


that girl likes to hold on tight

by brett (orphan_account)



Series: i've got soul, but i'm not a soldier [3]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cutesy lovey dovey stuff, F/M, Feminist!Cosette, First Kisses, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-24
Updated: 2013-01-24
Packaged: 2017-11-26 19:30:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/653659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/brett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Then they were on the right floor and Cosette resumed her space next to Marius and any nervousness vanished. Yes, this was an incredibly risky enterprise and there was a 60% chance this nervous young man would steal one of her kidneys but in the mean time, she was filled with a giddy euphoria that somehow made the possibility of involuntary organ donation seem unimportant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	that girl likes to hold on tight

She burnt the red and green tartan in the barbeque and emerged sooty and out-of-sorts. She knew her father wouldn’t be pleased about the willful and dangerous destruction of a well-made clothing item, especially when said destruction took place in the same device that grilled his hotdogs. There was also the matter of the credit card bill, due any day now. When her father had told her to buy some lip-gloss, he hadn’t intended Cosette to wrack up a $200 Sephora bill.

They had money enough for indulgences and had the charges come from Barnes and Noble or AC Moore, her father wouldn’t have cared. It was just make-up that made him grit his teeth and grip his Sudoku book so tightly his knuckles went white. God, he would never say anything but his disapproval was clear enough that Cosette felt guilty. Not guilty enough to return to parochial school and ugly plaid skirts but still, guilty.

She had grown up in stages; first demanding a move to the local public high school, then buying slightly too short dresses from west-side boutiques and then ordering contact lenses. At sixteen, Cosette Fauchevelent was still a little gawkish and unsure of her newly ballooned chest and long legs. She had started to pluck her eyebrows into thin lines and her braces were finally off. Her eyes were blue and wide and her eyelashes black and curved.

Her father, in spite of his disapproval still left her alone in the apartment for days at a time when he had business out of the city, a small show of trust that touched Cosette deeply. She valued his trust even as she abused it commit minor arson against ugly school uniforms. He was in Albany now and the door had barely shut before Cosette was pacing around her bedroom, eyes glued to her cell phone.

It made no sound. She made a pot of tea and drank all of it. She scrubbed the bathroom floor. She tended her cactus garden. She watched her favorite movie, _You’ve Got Mail_ and baked an oven-full of sugar cookies.

Cosette was sitting on the sofa, waiting for the cookies to cool and wondering how she’d look with a pixie cut when her phone’s screen lit up.

**marius: hey, is 6 good???**

Feeling gleeful, she typed out a reply.

**cosette <3: yess! i’ll be ready :]**

**marius: awesome. can’t wait. ;)**

Times like these made Cosette wish she had more close girlfriends. She had been popular at Perpetual Adoration School for Girls but many of those friends had shunned her when she decided to give state-run education a try. Public high school had more opportunities than parochial school for socializing but it was strangely unwelcoming. Besides, Cosette had only been there for a few weeks.

She desperately wanted another girl to help her analyze the short text conversation, to tell her what shade of blue went best with her eyes, to paint her fucking toenails. It was such a simple staple of adolescence and Cosette suddenly felt angry she’d been deprived of it.

There was Èponine but Cosette still nursed a quiet, slow-burning dislike of the girl who had tormented her in elementary school. Cosette wasn’t sure they had anything in common.

It was vaguely depressing, fixing up her hair and make-up alone in the creaky old apartment, Regina Spektor blasting just so Cosette could hear another human voice. The hour went by quickly and it seemed no time had passed at all when there was a knock on the door. Feeling strangely jittery ( _you’re going to a party, Cosette, not an execution_ ) she made her way to the door.

Marius Pontmercy stood in her doorway ( _just two feet away from the bedroom_ ), a wide smile plastered on his freckled face, hands in his coat pockets. Cosette felt her breath catch in her throat. He was even more handsome than she remembered, reflected under the florescent lights from the hallway, on her doorstep.

“Hi,” Marius said.

“Hi,” Cosette said. His brown, curling hair was a little longer than it had been that day in Central Park and there were bags under his eyes but _he was here_ ; he was standing on her doorstep and they were going out together. Cosette felt a little dizzy.

“Do you want anything? I have cookies and water and orange juice,” Cosette said quickly. Gosh, she sounded silly. She sounded like a child. Marius was in college; he wouldn’t want sugar cookies and orange juice.

“Thanks, um, I ate on the way here,” he said. He hadn’t stopped smiling. She could see all his teeth, white and slightly crooked.

“Cool,” Cosette said slowly. She felt herself being sucked in by those grey eyes. She felt stupid and sick and also very, very happy.

“Yeah,” Marius said.

“I’m ready to go,” Cosette said.

“Oh, yeah. It’s only a few blocks away so we can walk,” Marius said.

“Cool,” Cosette said. Marius extended his arm somewhat jerkily and Cosette found herself taking it though she didn’t know how because she didn’t seem to have control of her limbs. She barely remembered to lock the front door.

December had moved in with a vicious chill and though Cosette forgot her mittens at home, she barely felt the cold. Marius was talking animatedly about his classes and they were walking slowly, stopping every few minutes to smile at each other. A small, vocal part of her brain screamed that they looked like idiots but a million little _Oh my Gosh’_ s soon drowned it out.

The party was only a few blocks away in a slightly run down building. The elevator was broken so they trudged up ten flights of stairs, which was unfortunate because it meant Cosette had to let go of Marius’s arm. It also cleared her head enough for a bit of panic to sink her. If her father found out…

Then they were on the right floor and Cosette resumed her space next to Marius and any nervousness vanished. Yes, this was an incredibly risky enterprise and there was a 60% chance this nervous young man would steal one of her kidneys, but in the mean time, she was filled with a giddy euphoria that somehow made the possibility of involuntary organ donation seem unimportant.

Marius charged in without knocking and Cosette found herself in a smoky, dimly lit room that reeked of unwashed socks and liquor. There were only a dozen or so people inside but somehow it seemed cramped.

“Oh my God, you made it. We thought you froze to death. Joly almost sent out one of those St. Bernard rescue forces to find you,” a voice called. A chestnut haired young man with a face full of freckles and a wicked smile pushed to the front of the crowd.

“Courfeyrac, this is Cosette,” Marius said stiffly. Courfeyrac raised his eyebrows sharply.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Cosette said.

“Not as nice as it is to meet _you_. We were starting to think Pontmercy had made you up. I mean, really, how many gorgeous girls wander Central Park and take a liking to guys like him? No offense, dude,” Courfeyrac said. Cosette blushed in spite of herself and felt silly about it until she looked at Marius and saw his ears were scarlet. 

“I’m very real, I think,” Cosette said.

“I’m glad to see it. There are plenty of non-believers ready to meet you. God Marius, aren’t you going to get your date a drink?” Courfeyrac said. 

“Um, do you want anything?” Marius asked nervously. Cosette found she liked him even more like this. She reached for his hand and squeezed it. Her own boldness surprised her. His hand was soft and cold.

“What do you have?” Cosette asked.

“Beer, tap water if that’s your thing. I think Bahorel might have some tequila? R definitely has whiskey and there’s Mountain Dew in the fridge,” Courfeyrac said.

Cosette considered. Her first instinct was to request Mountain Dew but a new rebelliousness was bubbling in her chest. She had already expressly disobeyed her father’s instructions and had snuck out of the house with a college student boy with long eyelashes. She might as well go all out.

“I’ll have whiskey,” She said in what she hoped was a worldly, confident voice. Her father sometimes had whiskey on Christmas.

.“I’ll grab it. Are you alright here?” Marius asked. Cosette smiled.

“I’m good,” She said. Marius looked nervous but walked to the kitchen where he was greeted by a cheer.

“Finally! We were just getting to the body shots!” a high, clearly feminine voice called out. Cosette squirmed. She suddenly felt very alone and a little scared.

“Do you go to NYU or Hunter? No, wait, FIT,” Courfeyrac said.

“I’m in high school,” Cosette said. She felt stupid again but Courfeyrac just grinned.

“No problem. Èponine and Azelma are still in high school, too.”

Cosette felt suddenly very sick.

“Èponine and Azelma? Thènardier?” She stammered.

“You know them? Yeah, they’re cool. I think ‘Ponine’s in the kitchen,” Courfeyrac said, still smiling. Cosette paled. So that had been the flirty voice calling to Marius.

“Um, when we were really little. I doubt they remember me,” Cosette said. She had to pull herself together. She couldn’t face Èponine and _gosh_ , Azelma. Azelma had been in diapers when they last spoke.

“Do you want to see them?” Courfeyrac asked. Cosette tried to smile.

“It’s fine. Why don’t you introduce me to all of Marius’s friends?” She said, hoping those friends were in the opposite end of the apartment. Soon she was being led by the wrist to a menagerie of college students in various states of intoxication. Some, like a balding boy being attacked by his girlfriend’s mouth, whooped loudly when she was introduced. One boy in tortoiseshell glasses asked if she could provide DNA evidence that she was in fact “the girl from Central Park” and not a paid escort.

“I don’t think Pontmercy is capable of lying about something like that,” a boy with long hair said thoughtfully.

“Desperation makes men do crazy things. Besides, we were starting to think he was on your side of the fence,” Glasses said. Long hair giggled into his beer.

“He’s definitely not government-sexual like Enjolras,” Long hair said.

Cosette didn’t understand but she smiled and shook hands with everyone and tried to get their names right. Marius appeared with two red solo cups ( _people really use these and not just in the movies?_ ) while a startlingly handsome blond explained to her the various problems with Occupy Wall Street.

“Oh, you’ve met Enjolras,” Marius said stiffly as he handed Cosette her cup. She nodded and took a huge sip, immediately regretting it. It was bitter and burnt her throat. Somehow she had always imagined her father’s whiskey tasted like cinnamon and cloves but this was repulsive.

“I like this girl. Do you know she’s involved in her high school’s feminist club? That’s very impressive,” Enjolras said approvingly. Cosette had at first thought he was rambling under the influence but now realized, as he took delicate sips from a Poland Spring water bottle, he was completely sober.

“That’s cool,” Marius said. He put his arm on Cosette’s shoulders. She shivered instinctively.

“So would you consider yourself a liberal feminist? Have you read any bell hooks?” Enjolras continued. His eyes were an icy blue and they bored into Cosette as she answered, trying not to mix up her words or sound too juvenile. Marius listened attentively. 

“We need more women in the ABC. It’s something that’s been bothering me for a while. I mean, besides Azelma who’s too young to really participate there’s only Musichetta and ideally we’d have a fifty-fifty ratio,” Enjolras said.

“The ABC?” Cosette asked. She felt the conversation had gone out of her depth. She wished she’d taken the women’s studies elective or maybe watched CNN more often.

“Didn’t Marius tell you? Our society?” Enjolras said. Cosette shook her head. She felt Marius’s arm around her shoulders stiffen but Enjolras didn’t seem fazed.

“Well, discretion is probably for the best. Still, if you’re interested in addressing social issues, I’d be happy to give you my number,” Enjolras said.

“Um, once the feminist club held a bake sale for NOW and I made cupcakes,” Cosette muttered. “And the gardening club always sells geraniums to support the Salvation Army even though they’re weird and homophobic and everything.”

Enjolras flashed Cosette a toothy smile. “On a larger scale than that,” he said.

“Sure?” Cosette said. She was still confused but the whiskey she’d been taking tentative sips for the past fifteen minutes was finally taking affect and had launched her body into a new, hazy calm. She exchanged cell phone numbers with Enjolras and could have kissed him when he returned her phone without a mention of how few contacts she had saved.

“I’ll call you,” Enjolras said, smiling approvingly.

“He’s not hitting on you, in case you’re worried,” Courfeyrac called from a corner where he was trying to twist himself into a keg stand.

“Of course,” Cosette said but she breathed a bit easier.

Now Marius was leading her to the center of the room where the longhaired boy was dancing alone, swaying drunkenly to Of Monsters and Men. There were couples dancing too; a girl with long dark hair had her face attached to a frizzy haired boy and two redheads were waltzing and giggling.

“Do you want to dance?” Cosette asked. She felt a slur creep into her voice and decided she’d had quite enough whiskey. It no longer tasted as horrible.

Marius nodded and wrapped his arms around Cosette’s waist. She shivered as she felt his hands on her. The song changed to some melancholy Passion Pit and two boys joined them. They weren’t so much dancing as hugging and moving at the same time. Cosette gained strength from the fact that no matter how stupid she looked, everybody else looked a lot stupider.

They were moving slowly and Marius kept biting his lip. Cosette liked that dancing gave her a chance to examine his face. She looked unashamedly into his eyes and examined his prominent nostrils and thin lips. She wished he’d kiss her. 

A retching sound broke their moment. The dark-haired girl was massaging her partner’s back as he vomited into an old shopping bag.

“ _Jesus_ , 'Taire,” someone cried and Glasses ran forward with a glass of water.

“Give him some air,” the dark-haired girl screeched as Marius and half the party lunged forward.

“This happens like, everyday. Don’t worry,” Courfeyrac whispered in Cosette’s ear.

“He throws up everyday?” Cosette asked. She vaguely remembered a middle school assembly about bulimia.

“He’s not sick everyday, just drunk. _This_ fine spectacle is especially bad and it’s all thanks to our Great Leader,” Courfeyrac said, turning to Enjolras. The blond stood against the wall, still as stone, sipping from his water bottle.

“They fought,” Marius explained tersely.

“R’s fine. Èponine and Combeferre will take him home and make sure he doesn’t like, asphyxiate. Combeferre’s an EMT,” Courfeyrac said cheerfully.

“Wait, Èponine?” Cosette whispered.

“Didn’t you recognize her?” Courfeyrac said. Cosette turned to the dark-haired girl. She was now swearing at the redheads and running her fingers through the drunk’s hair; a quiet act of comfort. It didn’t look like the Èponine that Cosette remembered, but that could just be the nine years they were separated. This Èponine was lean, almost emaciated, her skin strangely tight around her exposed collarbones. Still, on closer inspection Cosette saw the same lips and the same almond-shaped eyes.

Èponine was pulling R up with a strength that seemed at odds with her build and dragging his stumbling body to the bedroom. “You can stop staring, fuckers!” She called behind her. The door slammed shut, only to open a few moments later when Combeferre (apparently Glasses) emerged for some saltines.

“Maybe we should head back,” Marius said stiffly.

“But Cosette and I were just getting to know each other,” Courfeyrac whined.

“If it’s okay with you, I’m having fun,” Cosette said. Marius smiled and she felt her skin tingle. Gosh, he was handsome even in this moldy apartment that now reeked of puke.

“Do you want to go into the kitchen?” Marius asked and Courfeyrac was overcome with a fit of giggles. Feeling nervous but also like flying, Cosette smiled and followed him. The kitchen was empty and filled with empty cups and garbage no one bothered to actually put in the garbage can. Marius shut the door and the music faded.

“Hi,” Cosette said. She felt her heart beat furiously.

“I didn’t want to make a show of this,” Marius said slowly.

“Hmm?” Cosette said.

“May I kiss you?” Marius asked. Cosette smiled.

“Please.”

He run forward and cradled her jaw in his hands and pressed his mouth against hers. Cosette barely had time to register that _this is my first kiss_ when she felt herself pull him closer.

The door opened and someone called “Guys, are we out of Doritos?” then laughed and ran out. Cosette didn’t care. She had her arms around Marius and was kissing him as if he’d disappear if she didn’t hold on for dear life.

They emerged for air.

“I like you,” Marius said.

“I like you too,” Cosette said.

“I’d like to see you again.”

“Me too.”

They held hands the whole way home.


End file.
